


Honorable Society

by Whisper132



Series: The Honorable Society of Meddlers [7]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-04
Updated: 2006-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper132/pseuds/Whisper132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fic that launched a thousand spin-offs. This is the first Honorable Society of Meddlers Story, featuring Inukai fluff.  The Meddlers decide Inui and Kaidou aren't moving along fast enough for their liking and decide to give them a shove in the right direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honorable Society

Kikumaru was bouncing. That, in itself, was not uncommon and was not cause for alarm. It was the laughter that was worrying Oishi. When Kikumaru laughed while bouncing it meant the acrobat was scheming. Kikumaru’s schemes usually landed him in detention (generally alongside Fuji) or grounded. Unfortunately, a scheming Eiji was as impossible to stop as a group of frenzied sharks. Oishi pretending he didn’t notice anything. It would be safer that way.

 ** &-& **

  
Jirou answered Atobe’s cell phone with a yawn. “Atobe’s still showering from practice. Can I take a message?” Keigo didn’t really like it when Jirou answered his phone, but Jirou liked it even less when he didn’t know who was calling his boyfriend. Kajimoto still called asking for practice matches every now and then. The next time he called, Jirou was going to explain that no meant no and, should Kajimoto call again, Kabaji would be coming to Jyousei for a visit.

“Akutagawa-kun! I called your phone but you didn’t answer, nyah. Is it turned off?” Kikumaru sounded hurried and a little bit like he was having lots of fun.

“No phones during practice,” Jirou explained, only now stretching and rolling off the bench on which he was perched. “What’s up?” Jirou liked Kikumaru. He always had the best ideas.

“Are you busy this weekend?”

“No.” Jirou thought a moment, then, “well, Atobe’s getting his eyebrows waxed, but I don’t really need to be there for that.” It was fun watching Atobe try not to wince as his on-staff beautician ripped the wax off his face. Jiroh stood and stretched again.

“Good. I need your help. I’ve been talking to Marui-kun and we need to get some things together before nationals. We’re meeting at the usual place.” The usual place was an ice cream parlor one block south of the Rikkai campus.

“Did you call Kamio and Sengoku?” Jirou was pacing across the floor, gripping the phone with both hands. If Kikumaru was calling everyone together, this must be something big.

“Not yet. I’ll call Sengoku if you can get Kamio. We’ll meet ASAP.” Kikumaru’s excitement radiated through the phone, infectious.

“Got it. I’ll see you in a bit.” Jirou closed the phone and deleted the call log. Atobe shouldn’t know about Club business. He wasn’t the sort to approve of it.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Marui stood and, with a flourish, removed the gum from his mouth, placing it in a small candy dish to the side. “This meeting will now come to order. Brother Eiji has called us here to address a concern. Brother Eiji, take the floor.” Marui sat and began to sip at his strawberry shake. He wanted to slurp it down and order another, but he drank it slowly, instead. As Club president this quarter, he had to keep up appearances. Next quarter it would be Kamio’s turn to be president and Marui could drink his shakes fast again.

“Thank you, Brother Bunta.” The sheer control Kikumaru exhibited indicated that he thought the issue he was about to raise was at least a Level 6 mission. They were still working on Marui’s Level 6 from last year. “You are all aware of Seigaku’s Doubles Two team, right?”

  
 ** &-& **

  
While a group of unlikely friends were speaking gravely on a very important and, no doubt, world-shattering issue, Seigaku’s Doubles Two team was training. It was Thursday, so Kaidoh trained by the river with his towel, now with ring-weights sewn on, while Inui did weight training by swimming upstream while wearing weights strapped to himself. The position of the weights varied depending on Inui’s condition that day. Today, they were on his legs, as they felt oddly weak.

Inui enjoyed Thursday training. Though sixty-four percent of Kaidoh’s training was done shirtlessly, it was only on Thursdays that Kaidoh trained shirtlessly in the river. The view was wonderful, though fifty-six percent of the time it distracted Inui from his own training. The pros, Inui decided, far outweighed the cons and he’d long since adjusted his training schedule to cover for the probable Thursday lapse.

“Senpai, I think we need to weight it more.” Kaidoh trailed his towel through the water and frowned. “There isn’t much resistance.”

It was moments like this that made Thursdays worth it. “Let me watch for a few repetitions. I’ll adjust the weights after I have more data.” Inui dutifully focused on Kaidoh’s form and movement for the first three repetitions. He would need to add a full pound of weights to make the towel method useful for Kaidoh. Soon, Inui would need to devise a new training method.

“Is that enough, senpai?”

“A few more, Kaidoh. I’m not sure on the lateral figures yet.” There was an eighty-two percent chance that Kaidoh knew his senpai was lying. But, on Thursdays, it was Inui’s day to get away with the small things. At the end of practice, Inui would steal a kiss and Kaidoh would blush beautifully. It was their tradition, going four months strong, and, on Tuesday, they would go to the animal shelter and play with kittens and puppies. Tuesdays were Kaidoh’s.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Sengoku was bored. Kikumaru was still talking about Seigaku’s Doubles Two and, while Sengoku had never seen the two blatantly being couply, he was pretty sure they were together. They did the look-talking thing that the Golden Pair and Silver Pair did all the time. It was the Doubles Look. He would say all this, but Eiji was still talking.

“…we just need to help them get it out in the open; let them know that we know and it’s okay. Suggestions?” Eiji flopped down, probably exhausted. Sengoku couldn’t remember the last time Eiji stayed serious for that long.

Marui rose, his eyes flitting toward his nearly-empty second milkshake. Sengoku thought Marui’s restraint was very noble. They all gave up something during Club meetings. Bunta didn’t pop bubbles, Eiji cut the cat noises, Jirou stayed awake, Akira didn’t mention Rhythm or Tachibana, and Sengoku didn’t goad or mock people- out loud- and he also didn’t mention girls. Being the Club’s token heterosexual was sometimes difficult.

“Are there any comments from the assemblage?” Marui asked, eyeing Sengoku.

Oops, caught. Marui was good at catching people drifting off. If they didn’t have a rotating presidency, Sengoku would nominate Marui, or maybe Jirou. Sengoku stood and cleared his throat. “I move that we Name them.” He sat and waited for the shocked silence to shatter.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Kamio studied his root-beer float. That was a serious proposition, Naming a doubles pair. It suggested a level of permanence, not to mention skill. If you were a Named pair, you were as good as married. Only two pairs had accepted a Naming; the Golden Pair and the Silver Pair. The Golden Pair was before the Club’s time, but the Silver Pair was all Jirou’s doing. So far, Oshitari and Mukahi were resisting a Naming, no matter how hard the Club tried.

Finally, Kamio stood. “I dunno. Naming is a big step, and Inui and Kaidoh have historically been obstinate. We’d need a force stronger than the five of us to pull it off.”

“I’ll get Fujiko to help,” Kikumaru offered. While Fuji Syusuke was not part of the Club, he was sometimes employed as a consultant or adjunct member on bigger projects. He was currently helping with Marui’s Level 6 mission.

“I can get Atobe.”

Spoons dropped. Straws fell from slackened jaws. Not once in the Club’s history had Jirou offered to bring Atobe Keigo in on Club business. Jirou preferred to keep his boyfriend ignorant to the existence of the Club, which all members agreed was for the best.

“You sure you want to do that?” Marui asked. He was using his president voice, but Kamio could tell it was a challenge for him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him about us. I’ll just suggest some things.” Jirou smiled and Kamio was scared. The smile wasn’t a normal Jirou smile, full of genki and fun and a thousand dreams at the ready. It was a conspiratorial, predatorial smile. You didn’t get in Jirou’s way when he smiled like that.

“Okay then. Now all we need is the Name.” Marui tapped his spoon on the table, simultaneously bringing the meeting back to order and hailing the waitress. “A round of parfaits, please, extra whipped cream.”

Kamio checked his watch. It was nearly eight and the shop would be closing in an hour. Time was short if they wanted this settled tonight. They’d already made it a four-round day; it looked like there’d be at least another parfait and a shake each before the night was over. He really shouldn’t eat so much. He’d get fat. Tachibana would never like him if he got fat. But Jirou always got the tab and Kamio rarely had sweets, so it would probably be okay if he ate just this one parfait…and maybe the shake. Tachibana wouldn’t mind maybe a pound, so long as it wasn’t in Kamio’s face. It wasn’t fair how Tachibana could…

“Brother Akira, your pledge,” Marui called, tossing a dinner mint at Kamio’s head.

“Sorry.”

  
 ** &-& **

  
Fridays were dull days for Fuji. While most of the other students were abuzz with the excitement of the coming weekend, Fuji just thought about how hideous Sunday would be. No school and no Tezuka; absolutely horrible. Fuji was supposed to be helping Eiji help Marui on Sundays. Most of the time, this meant long chats and practices with Yukimura, who gave Fuji the creeps. No one was _really_ that nice all the time. Fuji would know.

“Hoi, Fujiko!” Eiji bounced into the classroom, grinning. He was up to something, no doubt.

“Another mysterious assignment?” Fuji asked. Hopefully it would be something less irksome than the Rikkai assignment.

“Hoi! We’re…” Eiji looked around and scooted closer, “…we’re going to Name Inui and Kaidoh.”

Fuji had no idea who this mysterious “we” was that Eiji was talking about, but whomever Eiji was conspiring with, they were smart. Marui was part of the group, and possibly Jirou, though Fuji could never properly read the volley specialist outside of a tennis court. “Have you decided on a Name yet?”

Kikumaru grinned and chuckled. “Yup! But I can’t tell. It’s a secret.”

“What do I need to do?” This sounded like good fun.

“Just get Tezuka to agree to Atobe’s proposal this afternoon.” Kikumaru scuttled to his seat as the classroom door slid open and their teacher moved to the front of the room.

Fuji spent morning classes wondering what his best friend’s secret society was up to and how they managed to pull Atobe into it. Fuji spent lunch trying to keep Tezuka from ruining everything.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Jirou was awake and on time for morning practice, which was Atobe’s first clue that he was in trouble. The second clue was the fact that Jirou was respecting Atobe’s personal space. Jirou was a genius, true, but Atobe Keigo was neither an idiot nor a sucker. He knew a trap when he saw one. When practice let out, Atobe pulled Jirou aside in the locker room. “What do you want, Jirou?”

“Keigoooooo, I _want_ to take a shower. I’m all stinky. I practiced hard this morning.” Jirou tugged his arm free and walked into the shower. The moment Jirou turned his back to Atobe, the occupants of the regular’s locker room scattered. Fights between the two were rare but nasty; no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire.

“Ore-sama does not appreciate being ignored.” Atobe had not ore-sama’ed Jirou in over a year. The other boy froze in front of a shower stall, his hand on the beveled glass door. “You are trying to manipulate ore-sama and ore-sama will not stand for it.”

Jirou was clearly not expecting a straightforward accusation. He took a moment to gather his voice. “Atobe, I didn’t mean to…”

“Habit, yes, I know.” Atobe sat down on a plush changing stool, suddenly very tired. If this were anyone other than Jirou, he would use Insight to figure out what was going on. The problem lie in the fact that this was Jirou, and Atobe respected him more than the common imbecile.

Jirou was lovely and devoted and the most devious individual Atobe had ever met. When Atobe first accepted his attraction for Jirou, he accepted with it the fact that he would often be forced to have blind faith in his boyfriend. In exchange, Jirou left Atobe out of any schemings, including those of the little club he and Seigaku’s Kikumaru started. Atobe often wondered if Tezuka had to deal with situations like this.

Jirou moved forward and sat on the ground, resting his head on Atobe’s lap. “I’m sorry, Keigo. They needed our help and I can’t do it without you.”

So, this was about Jirou’s little club. The instinct to run his fingers through Jirou’s hair was strong, but residual anger kept Atobe’s hands still. “Continue.”

Jirou scooted closer still, wrapping his arms around Atobe’s calf, hugging it. “They want to Name Seigaku’s Doubles Two team, but those two won’t accept it without a lot of pressure. We figured that, if we get a lot of us together, they’d have to go along with it.”

“And this requires my involvement _because?_ ” Atobe knew why he was needed. The world moved at the flick of Atobe’s wrist. Also, he had a very large home with several tennis courts, which was probably what Jirou was after.

“We need you to host a tournament, and we need Kaidoh and Inui to win.”

Atobe gave in and ran his fingers through Jirou’s curls. It was Atobe’s favorite pastime, along with tennis and shopping. “You don’t have to be sly about things like that. All you have to do is ask.”

Jirou mumbled, “Sorry,” into Atobe’s leg before falling asleep. Atobe reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. The hippo phone strap Jirou gave him for his birthday stared snarkily up at him.

“Kabaji, see that my classwork is collected. Jirou and I will not be attending classes today.” Atobe ended the call and turned off the phone. The phone was always off when Jirou was asleep. Jirou got jealous if pretty people called and he couldn’t answer the phone, just in case he needed to defend his territory. It was an unnecessary measure, but Jirou insisted and it was a rare day, indeed, when Atobe wouldn’t give in to a cute yawn and a cuddle.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Tezuka looked into his shoe box and frowned. There was a silver something in it, probably a love letter or something similar. He would leave it for Fuji to dispose of, as the tensai routinely raided Tezuka’s box and confiscated any “foreign materials.” It was, Fuji explained, all for Tezuka’s safety.

“What are you looking at, Tezuka?” Fuji leaned against Tezuka’s back and peered over his shoulder. “Why don’t you open it? It’s pretty.”

So, it was some kind of Fuji-inspired trap. How wonderful. Tezuka supposed he was due for some sort of retribution after he’d made Fuji run thirty laps on Monday. Fuji deserved it, though. He was endeavoring to part Tezuka from his jersey, which he was wearing at the time. “I’ll deal with it later.” It was small, so it probably wouldn’t explode. Tezuka would consult Inui to see what methodology would be best for disposing of the thing.

“But it could be important.” Fuji reached across and took the envelope. “It feels weighty. Maybe there’s a gift inside.”

Maybe it was a series of razors attached to a small projectile device. “I’ll deal with it later. I have a meeting with Oishi and Ryuzaki. Please excuse me.” Though the execution was a bit awkward, Tezuka _did_ manage to lean back and place a small kiss on Fuji’s cheek before walking away. Or, rather, he would’ve walked away but for Fuji’s rather insistent hold on his midsection. Tezuka took a deep breath. “Fuji, let go.”

“Open the envelope.” Fuji sounded frustrated. Perhaps he was getting a taste of how Tezuka lived from day to day. Good for him.

“Why?”

“It’s important. Open it.”

Some days, Tezuka wished he could just go live in the mountains, maybe then his headaches would stop. Of course, there wouldn’t be a Fuji to make him lunch daily so he’d probably starve. Also, in the quieter moments, sitting next to Fuji felt a little too much like Heaven for Tezuka to remove himself from the tensai forever- maybe just a week or so. “Who put it there?”

“I did.”

“And why would you do that?” Tezuka was speaking slowly and carefully. He was also making sure Fuji didn’t see him roll his eyes.

“I was asked to.”

“By whom?” Probably the Devil.

“Atobe.”

Close enough. “Fine.” He opened the letter and dumped out the generous amount of confetti inside. He opened a card, embossed with Atobe’s family seal. The members of Seigaku, along with select members of Fudomine, Yamabuki, and Rikkai, were formally invited to the First Annual Atobe Invitational, to be held Saturday and Sunday. In true Atobe style, there was no RSVP. All invited were expected to be in attendance. “Fuji, what is this about?”

“It’s about tennis, Tezuka. Now go to your meeting or you’ll be late.” Fuji gave Tezuka a quick hug. “I have to get the rest of these invitations out.” As Fuji dashed off, Tezuka walked toward Ryuzaki’s office. Tournaments falling from out of the sky never phased Ryuzaki. She would probably find all of this very amusing.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Sanada observed the falling glitter with unveiled disgust. “I’m not going.” He threw the invitation in a nearby bin and continued to change out his shoes. It was almost time for practice.

“Come on, Sanada, it’ll be fun!” Marui accented his complaint with a pop of his gum. “Yukimura-buchou said that if you don’t go, no one can go.”

Sanada paused in tying his shoe. That did sound like something Seiichi would do to force Sanada to “be more social.” Sanada was, in his opinion, plenty social. He spoke with the lady who owned the corner mart almost every day. He resumed tying his shoe. “No.”

“You’re just afraid Atobe’ll beat you.” The whining was accented with yet another bubble pop. Sanada would never understand why Yukimura allowed Marui to chew that infernal gum. It fell out when he played and got all over the courts, where the freshmen had to spend extra time scraping it up.

“I said no.” He nodded his head for emphasis before pulling his cap down.

“But it would be such good practice for you, Sanada. Besides, _I’m_ going.” How Seiichi managed to get his soft voice to carry down the hall like that was a mystery.

“Yukimura, I don’t want to go.” Maybe, just this once, Sanada would win. Maybe, just maybe, his resolve would last through the first frown of disapproval. It probably would crumble if Yukimura drew his soft lips – Sanada assumed they were soft though he’d never actually felt them – into the thin pout that, coupled with a slight scrunching of eyebrows, affected the appearance of something soft, fluffy, and wounded. Sanada couldn’t say no to that face. He was stern, not heartless.

“But your team and your buchou want you to go, Sanada.” Yukimura smiled and looked to Marui. “Please have the team begin with twenty laps. Sanada and I will join you before they are completed.” Marui grumbled something Sanada couldn’t quite catch and ran towards the courts. The team would not enjoy the forthcoming laps. When Marui was out of sight, Yukimura turned back to Sanada. “It is very important to Bunta that this tournament be fully attended. Please go.” Yukimura was still smiling, though he was holding Sanada’s hand.

“I would rather stay home and train for nationals. We only have a few weeks left.” Sanada pulled his hand out of Yukimura’s. He didn’t like how his stomach did gurgly things when Yukimura held his hand.

“Call it a favor, then. You do this for me and I’ll do something for you, later.” Yukimura took Sanada’s hand back, running his thumb over Sanada’s palm. It tickled and made Sanada’s stomach do twisty things.

“Fine.” Sanada took his hand back, fully aware he was blushing like an idiot. More and more, Yukimura would say or do things that brought a blush to Sanada’s cheeks. It was probably unintentional. Yukimura was Sanada’s best friend and captain. He was just being friendly.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“This meeting will now come to order.” Marui tapped his spoon on the table. The waitress came over. “A round of shakes, please. Chocolate.” Marui waited for the waitress to go. “Progress reports.”

“Seigaku is in,” Kikumaru reported with a smile. Marui was guessing the smile was more from the hickey on his neck than from the reported news.

“Fudomine is also in, though Uchimura and Mori can’t attend because Mori sprained his ankle.” Kamio was tapping his fingers on the table. If he stopped, Marui would know he was spacing out on Tachibana again. Marui would need to call a mission for those two soon. Maybe he could get Jirou to look into next week.

“You can count on Yamabuki to be there.” There was a table of girls nearby. Sengoku’s head kept turning.

“Brother Kiyosumi, your pledge,” Marui warned. “Hyoutei is obviously in. Thanks go to Brother Jirou for providing a staging grounds.” Jirou nodded back in acknowledgement. “Good. We have enough players to make it look legit and we have a Name. Brother Eiji, on the day of the event, you’ll be in crowd control during the final match. Brother Jirou, Brother Akira, and Brother Kiyosumi; I want you to start a whispering campaign from the start of the first match. By the time Brother Eiji’s phase starts, I want everyone to have heard the Name. Got it?” Milkshakes were raised in agreement. Kikumaru raised his hand. “Brother Eiji, you are recognized.”

“I have some news on Brother Bunta’s project.” He produced a letter from his pocket. “This is the most recent report I received from Fujiko…”

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Akaya, come here.”

Kirihara came when Yukimura called because, while Kirihara occasionally lost lucidity, he was never stupid. “Yes, buchou?”

“Answer me honestly, Akaya. Am I unpleasant to look at?”

Kirihara paused because, even though he was going to say no, he had to make it look like he was thinking. Yukimura wasn’t bad looking at all, kinda girlish, but it worked. It fooled the enemy. “No, buchou.”

“Do I smell?”

He took a tentative sniff. Practice just finished, so Yukimura was a little sweaty but, overall, he smelled like lavender. “No, buchou.”

“Then why is Sanada being so difficult?” Yukimura was smiling, even though he was hissing his words out. It was a skill Kirihara wanted to learn. “I have dropped numerous hints. I asked him to give me a sponge bath in the hospital. He called an orderly to do it.” Kirihara could’ve lived without knowing that. “I begin to strip in front of him and he turns his back.” Also something Kirihara didn’t want to know. “I invite him out to a movie and he politely declines.” That was understandable. Sanada wasn’t the movie type. “I ask him to eat lunch on the roof and he sits on the bench across from me.” Kirihara nodded and looked very serious while Yukimura-buchou talked, even though he thought that Yukimura-buchou was getting slightly too scary and obsessive. “I hold his hand and he pulls away from me.” Kirihara would, too. Holding hands was for girls. “I’ve tried everything, Akaya. Everything.”

“Why don’t you just tell him you like him?” It slipped out before Kirihara could remember to just nod and sympathize. He was not supposed to give buchou advice. He was supposed to be a nice, empty vessel for Yukimura to complain at. It was his trade off for being on the team, he supposed.

“Do you think he’s misinterpreting things?” Yukimura was talking to the ground, so Kirihara didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply, really. All he had to say on the matter was that Sanada had the personality of a stone toad and Yukimura was better off finding some nice, mushy person to fall in love with. Yukimura was mumbling to himself now, which was Akaya’s cue to slowly step away.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Atobe, this is Tezuka. What is the meaning of all this?” Free of Fuji for the evening (Yuuta was visiting), Tezuka was trying to get to the bottom of this tournament nonsense.

“It was Jirou’s idea,” Atobe replied, as if it were all the explanation needed. Such was usually the way Tezuka’s conversations with Atobe ran.

“I was unaware Hyoutei moved to Akutagawa’s whims.” Tezuka took every chance he could to point out that his biggest rival was one of the most whipped men he’d ever encountered.

“Ore-sama heard about the incident on Monday, Tezuka. Be concerned about your own domestic affairs before any of your teammates notice, ah? Good night.” The phone went dead. Tezuka wondered why he even bothered to try.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Saturdays weren’t so bad when there were tennis matches to be had. There was nothing Sengoku liked better than some really good matches on a nice, crisp day. While the doubles matches were more or less for show (Atobe and Jirou stacked the blocks to ensure victory for Inui and Kaidoh), the singles matches were for real. Sengoku was going to win…or at least place third or fourth.

But more important than his own dreams of glory, as Marui’s text message this morning reminded him, was the whispering campaign, which would begin shortly. Inui and Kaidoh were going up against Ishida and Sakurai. Once that match was over, Sengoku had to hustle over to the singles venue and play Tachibana.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“I’m sorry, Eiji.” This was the twelfth time that Oishi apologized that morning.

“Don’t worry, we’ll play next year and beat the pants off of everyone.” Kikumaru meant it, too. Once this bit of Club business was taken care of and Oishi’s arm felt better, the Golden Pair was going to resume their winning streak. But, with Oishi laid up, Eiji was free to run around and make sure that everything was going as planned.

“Eiji is something wrong? You’ve been distracted all morning.” Oishi put an arm on Kikumaru’s shoulder. It was nice that Oishi wasn’t dumb like Atobe and Tezuka and Sanada. Those three were afraid to touch in public; not Oishi, though. Kikumaru moved up to his doubles partner and snuggled in close.

“Nyah Oishi, I’ve been a bit worried, but it’ll be okay soon.” He held onto Oishi a little longer, enjoying the smell of the other boy’s soap.

“Okay, so long as you’re alright.” Oishi smiled down and placed a kiss on top of Eiji’s head, right where his hair parted.

“Thanks.” It was a thank you for more than just Oishi’s unwavering trust and faith. It was a thank you that encompassed the entirety of existence as it related to the Golden Pair. Somehow, Oishi knew (he always knew) and he hummed in agreement.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Inui knew something was wrong after the third game. Marui lost far too cheerfully and Jackal was far too surprised at the loss for it to have been anything but staged. Kaidoh’s hissing had increased in frequency by twenty-three percent, which meant he noticed, too.

“Senpai, I don’t like this,” Kaidoh whispered as they waited for Marui to serve. “They aren’t playing right.”

“I’ve noticed this, too. We will win in short order, at which point I will speak to Marui-kun. Perhaps he is depressed.” Inui’d never seen Marui without a stick of gum in his mouth. Not so much as a bubble was seen all game. This was definitely a sign of depression.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Kamio cheered wildly as Tachibana trounced Sengoku. Everyone in the stands was whispering about how wonderful the game was and how great Tachibana was and, every now and then, Kamio heard mention of the Name. The plan was working, it seemed.

“That was embarrassing,” Sengoku laughed, toweling his hair. “I completely lost.”

“I told you he was good,” Kamio replied smugly. There were hoards around Tachibana. There was no way he could squeeze through to get to his buchou. Damn.

“How was your match?”

He turned back to Sengoku, who was observing Tachibana. “I got a point on Tezuka, but I think he let me.” In fact, Kamio _knew_ Tezuka let him. Tezuka’s racquet was sitting casually by his side as the ball went by.

“He’s not really that cute.”

“What?”

Sengoku pointed. “Your Tachibana-san. He’s not that cute. You have bad taste.”

Kamio snarled and launched himself at Sengoku, who side-stepped, sending Kamio to the ground. “Who the hell are you to talk,” a bit of dirt flew from Kamio’s mouth as he spoke, “you like girls.” Kamio said the last as if he were, instead, saying, “you like to give full body massages to lepers.”

Sengoku shrugged. “Somebody has to.” Kamio thought about refusing the hand Sengoku extended to help him up, but he really was tired and Sengoku was just being Sengoku. “Come on,” Sengoku smiled his good-natured smile. “We’ve got work to do. The doubles semi-final is up.”

  
 ** &-& **

  
Jirou smiled as Oshitari’s shot fell out of bounds. Drugging the tensai probably wasn’t the nicest of methods, but it got the job done. Jirou didn’t want to chance anything, not until the final. Besides, Oshitari hid Jirou’s backpack last week, the one Atobe commissioned especially for Jirou last year. It was Jirou’s favorite thing and _nobody_ touched it without permission. Oshitari deserved what he got.

Jirou felt something warm behind him. The scent of freesia wafted on the air. Atobe. “What did you do to him? More importantly, will he be back to normal tomorrow?”

“He’ll be fine in an hour or so.” Jirou closed his eyes and leaned back, to all appearances asleep. Atobe did his part of the show and sighed, pretending to be put out.

“Mukahi is yelling at him. They’ll probably break up for five minutes after the game.” Atobe’s voice ghosted across Jirou’s ear. They spent most games like this. Jirou pretended to be asleep while he listened to Atobe’s quiet highlights of the game. For his part, Atobe watched the game and looked marvelous. Most of the time, Atobe’s lips didn’t even move when he whispered.

“Let me know if you hear the Name,” Jirou mumbled into Atobe’s neck. He inhaled deeply – no sweat. Atobe’s match must’ve been easy. “Who’d you play.”

“Ibu Shinji. He’s very skilled, though not on top tier level. He’ll be formidable in two years’ time.” Atobe slid a hand up Jirou’s side, disguising the gesture as an endeavor to adjust the sleeping boy.

“Did you go easy on him?” Jirou was trying to be quiet, but the slow motion of Keigo’s fingers up and down his sides was trying to force a sound out of him that the fans around them would definitely hear. This must be Atobe’s punishment for drugging Oshitari. No fair.

“Of course. There was no need to be cruel. I think he’s found a few new base moves to work on.” Atobe snickered. “You seem to be having trouble staying still. Are you uncomfortable?”

“I hate you.”

“Clearly.”

Jirou squirmed a bit, then froze. He heard it; the Name. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, Jirou turned to the court. It looked like Kaidoh’d heard it, too. “Hey Atobe, the fun’s starting.”

  
 ** &-& **

  
“You so owe me,” Marui grumbled after yanking Kikumaru from Oishi and an ice cream cone.

“Huh?”

“I just had to go through a psychiatric evaluation because Inui thought I threw the game because I was depressed. _Me,_ depressed.” If Marui had to pick a mental state for himself, mortified was more like it. He just lost 6-4 in one of the lamest matches in the history of tennis. Yukimura was going to lynch him when word of this match got around. On top of that, Jackal wasn’t talking to him.

“Once the mission is done, everything will work out. Jirou and Sengoku are working cleanup. They’ll smooth it all over.” Kikumaru clapped Marui on the shoulder and pointed. “Look, Sengoku’s already talking to Jackal.”

Marui looked where Kikumaru was pointing and balked. Sengoku and Jackal were laughing. Jackal rarely laughed at tournaments, much less the full on, doubled-over-in-abdominal-pain laugh he was currently indulging in. What the hell was Sengoku saying?

“Wow, he’s good,” Kikumaru observed. “Look, if there isn’t anything else, I need to go or Oishi’ll suspect something. We’re almost to the final, so hang in there!” Kikumaru bounded away, singing. Marui had ten seconds to breath before Kirihara ran into him.

“Come quickly!” Kirihara tugged Marui toward the singles pavilion where, as far as Rikkai was concerned, the world was ending.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“I’m not going to go easy on you,” Yukimura said, holding firmly to Sanada’s hand.

“Likewise,” Sanada said gravely, looking over Yukimura’s head. Standing at the net, Yukimura could appreciate just how tall Sanada was. No wonder the freshman were scared of him.

“I look forward to your full efforts.” Yukimura still held onto Sanada’s hand. Here, at least, Sanada didn’t seem afraid of the contact. Yukimura was going to stretch it for all it was worth.

“And I, yours.” Sanada’s eyes darted about. “Let go of my hand now, please.”

“But I like holding your hand, Sanada.” He gave Sanada’s hand a little squeeze.

“Yukimura, this is embarrassing. People are pointing.” Sanada adjusted his cap with his free hand.

“They think we’re fighting. Stop worrying.” Why did Sanada have to be so uptight all the time? Yukimura released Sanada’s hand. “Which?”

“Rough.” Of course Sanada would choose rough. Why would he choose anything else?

It landed smooth. Yukimura picked up his racquet and moved to the baseline to serve.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Just give in already!” Yukimura grunted, lobbing the ball.

“No.” Sanada ran forward for a smash.

“Love-fifteen.” Finally, a point.

Yukimura walked back to the baseline to serve. Sanada waited. “You know,” Yukimura said, observing the tennis ball in his hand, “I used to think there was a softer side to you, Sanada.” The serve came faster than usual. Yukimura was angry.

“I think after the game would be a more appropriate time to discuss this.” Yes, after the game, when there weren’t a hundred or so people watching.

“You’ll just run away after the game.” Yukimura’s return was fast, but Sanada was fast, too.

“Maybe if you didn’t insist on putting me in uncomfortable situations, I wouldn’t have to run away.” There, the corner. There was no way Seiichi could get there in time.

“Well I’m sorry my feelings inconvenience you, Sanada.” Yukimura reached the ball, sending it back with a force that knocked Sanada’s racquet from his hands. “I was under the mistaken impression that you shared them.”

“Fifteen-all!”

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Look, Tezuka. Aren’t they cute?” Fuji pointed to the singles court where Sanada and Yukimura were standing on the sidelines, arguing. How Fuji found it cute was beyond Tezuka’s ability to reason.

“Fuji, Yukimura is crying.” Something like this was one of the many reasons why Tezuka and Fuji rarely played against eachother in real matches.

“He’s overcome with emotion. They’re going to make a breakthrough today, Tezuka.” Fuji reached for Tezuka’s arm and Tezuka allowed him to take it. Everybody knew anyway, there was no use hiding their relationship. He was still a little uncomfortable, though. It was unseemly to be so indiscrete in public. But, the gesture made Fuji smile a real smile, which was worth a little discomfort on Tezuka’s part.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Whipped,” Atobe mumbled to Jirou, pointing to Fuji and Tezuka’s display. “From the looks of it, Sanada is not long to follow.” Atobe stared at the two players arguing on the singles court and raised his left hand to cover his face. “They’re going to throw the match. How sad. I wanted to play Yukimura.” Atobe sighed. “Oh well.”

“Keigo, why can’t we hold hands like that?” Jirou grumbled. Ah, they were going to start this argument again.

“Are you going to explain it to the press, the school, and our parents?” To live the privileged life, you had to make sacrifices. As much as Atobe would like a measure of relaxation for himself and Jirou, Atobe also wanted to inherit a large sum of money when his parents died. Letting them know he was dating a teammate by way of Tennis Weekly was not the way to ensure his future wealth.

“I know, I know.” Jirou sighed, and curled his arms over his chest defensively.

“Leave it alone for now, Jirou. We’ll deal with it after nationals, when we have time to plan properly.” As a consolation, Atobe quickly pulled Jirou’s arm back and intertwined their hands, hiding the gesture between their bodies.

“When I win my first high school match, I want a kiss, Keigo.” Jirou’s hand constricted, almost painfully, around Atobe’s.

“If it can be done, it will be.” That, for now, was the best Atobe could promise. “Let’s enjoy watching your little Naming now, ah?” A faux snore and Jirou’s weight against his chest was Atobe’s answer.

  
 ** &-& **

  
Kaidoh looked down at the mockery of a doubles team he and Inui-senpai were playing. This had to be a setup.

“Oi, Mamushi, hurry up and serve!”

That loud, obnoxious idiot and Echizen were not good enough to make it to the final round of a doubles competition. As far as Kaidoh was concerned, they could take their Ah-Uhn Strategy and –

“Kaidoh, don’t let Momoshiro bother you.” Inui patted Kaidoh on the shoulder and smiled. Inui had a nice smile when he wasn’t trying to scare you with it.

“Hai senpai.” Kaidoh served. The chanting began. It started slow and soft, then spread like the ripples on a pond.

“Kai-doh!”

“In-u-i!”

“Kai-doh!”

“In-u-i!”

And then, the name he heard earlier and dismissed as his imagination. “Emerald Pair!” And again, until Kaidoh and Inui’s names faded from the chant completely.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Please resume the game,” the official called from up on his stool. What did he know?

Yukimura stood, looking up at Sanada, who was gazing off at nothing. “I just told you that I liked you in front of hundreds of people. Please say something, Sanada, even if it’s just to tell me you hate me.” Why did everything in his life have to be a soap opera? Tennis prodigy falls ill, is hospitalized, may never play tennis again, falls in love with his fukubuchou who steadfastly visits him, makes a miracle recovery, confesses to his fukubuchou in front of a roaring crowd, is rejected – that was the script of Yukimura’s life. Only, if this were TV, Sanada would be lifting him up by the waist and spinning them both around while they kissed. The crowd would applaud; some would cry.

“I don’t hate you,” Sanada said, frowning. He pulled his cap down. Yukimura hated how Sanada hid under that ridiculous hat. He’d done it ever since some twit called him ugly their first year at Rikkai. She moved before Yukimura could destroy her.

“Then what is it? Do you not like me? Do you want to be just friends?” Oh, anything but that. If Yukimura’s heart wasn’t shattered today, it would certainly erode in short order if he was forced to deal with Sanada humoring him, which Sanada would do because he was loyal to a fault.

“I…” Sanada began.

“Please continue the game.”

Yukimura glared at the scorekeeper. “We both disclaim, now leave us alone.” He turned to a slightly wide-eyed Sanada. “Come on, we’ll continue this discussion in private.”

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Emerald Pair!”

“Emerald Pair!”

This was all Kikumaru-senpai’s fault, Echizen reasoned. Kikumaru said this would be a good opportunity for Echizen to work on his doubles game in a friendly environment. Friendly didn’t mean that the entire audience was cheering for your opponent. At least Echizen _thought_ they were cheering for Kaidoh and Inui. Not even his two senpai seemed sure. It sure was pissing off Momoshiro, though.

“Oi, Mamushi, are you two married now or what?” Momo-senpai was grinning and sneering. Inui-senpai was going to make him drink Inui Juice next practice. Echizen stayed quiet so as not to attract Inui’s attention.

“Shut up you brainless talking ape!” Kaidoh served right to Momo, forcing him to take a step back and ruining his return. The ball went right to Inui who lobbed the ball while Momo fumbled with his footing and was unable to do a Dunk Smash. Momo-senpai should learn that taunting Kaidoh-senpai angered Inui-senpai and Inui-senpai was scary when he was angry.

Echizen returned the ball unenthusiastically. This was boring. Inui-senpai and Kaidoh-senpai were going to win because they were good at doubles and Inui’s Data Tennis was cheating. The Old Man would never let Ryoma live it down if they didn’t at least try, though. Echizen looked around the venue cautiously. The Old Man was probably here now, having a good laugh and chanting that stupid chant.

“Emerald Pair!”

“Emerald Pair!”

  
 ** &-& **

  
The bathroom was hardly Sanada’s idea of a private place but, being a bathroom on Atobe’s property, it at least sported a nice ante-chamber with a plush chair. Yukimura locked the door.

“I like you, Sanada. I’ve liked you ever since first year, when you made that second year cry by beating him in front of the entire team.” Yukimura took a step closer. Sanada backed up. This conversation was already making him feel dizzy. He looked around for a window. “When I went into the hospital, I knew I would make it through because you were there.” Sanada opened the window, hastily breathing in the fresh air. Yukimura continued. “No matter what, you visited daily. The nurses asked about you a few times. They saw how I looked at you.”

Sanada saw how Yukimura looked at him, too. Yukimura looked at Sanada like he was invincible, like he could keep Yukimura’s world in order with just a stern look. Sanada couldn’t, though. Sanada couldn’t even beat a freshman to win Yukimura a first place medal. Yukimura could do better. “I didn’t want you to be alone,” Sanada managed by way of reply when it became apparent that Yukimura was waiting for him to say something.

Yukimura moved closer. Sanada had nowhere to go but through the wall or out the window. “What about you, Sanada? Are you lonely?”

Sanada never gave loneliness much thought. He was generally more concerned with keeping Rikkai together than with keeping himself together. That was probably how this mess started. “I enjoy solitude.” It sounded good. He flinched when Yukimura’s hand landed on his chest. The window wasn’t that small. He could probably get through.

“Sanada, would you hate me if I kissed you? Just once?” Yukimura was only a breath away, but he was holding there, waiting. They were too close for Sanada to effectively jump out the window. He’d have to shove Seiichi, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do.

Answering it was, then. Sanada could never hate Yukimura. Sanada’s stomach twirled and gurgled. His palms began to sweat. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and answered with the only answer he had in him. “No.”

  
 ** &-& **

  
They won, much as Inui anticipated. What Inui’s data had not provided for was the crowd’s still-constant chanting of “Emerald Pair!” It was embarrassing Kaidoh.

“Nyah, looks like you’ve earned a Name for yourselves!” Kikumaru bounced up and slung an arm around Inui and Kaidoh’s shoulders. “So, what do you think?”

As if cued, the chanting stopped. Inui would have to collect more data on Kikumaru. Clearly, his data on the cheerful acrobat was incomplete. Inui considered the Name a moment. The Emerald Pair – it had a nice ring to it, a certain majestic tone. Furthermore, Kaidoh _did_ have a penchant for green and, as Inui had a penchant for Kaidoh, Inui was, by proxy, fond of green as well. “I like it,” he concluded. “What do you think, Kaidoh?”

“Fssshu. Whatever.” Kaidoh turned his face down, hiding his blush.

Inui reached out and took Kaidoh’s hand, pulling his partner towards him. The chanting resumed. Logically, if they tried to resist the Name now, they had only a thirty-one percent chance of success. Too many people were present and had become fond of it. Inui continued to hold Kaidoh’s hand, delighting in a further fifteen percent increase in blood-flow to Kaidoh’s neck and cheeks. “I believe we accept,” Inui said at last, taking note of Kikumaru’s too-please grin. Yes, he’d be looking into that, just as soon as he and Kaidoh celebrated.

  
 ** &-& **

  
“Brother Akira, your pledge.” Marui threw a piece of ice at Kamio’s forehead. “Now, Brother Eiji would like to close the meeting with mission reports. Brother Eiji, take the floor.”

“Thank you, Brother Bunta.” Kikumaru raised his strawberry parfait. “I hereby report that the Rikkai Project and the Emerald Project are officially successes.” Around the table, parfait glasses clinked. “With this good news, I call dismissal for this meeting of The Honorable Society of Meddlers; Kanto Division. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” Marui called back before he began to rapidly shovel the remainder of his parfait into this mouth. Maybe he could get Jirou to buy him another one before they left.

 **The End.**


End file.
